


that dress you like

by asphodelgrimoire



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BUT IT IS WANTED OKAY SO, Daddy Kink, Feminization, Fluff, George Washington is a sugar daddy, His day job may be college professor but it's only a front for his real interests, Insecurity, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Unbidden Emotions for the Author - Freeform, genderqueer lafayette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-17 20:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5884057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphodelgrimoire/pseuds/asphodelgrimoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was almost shaking too hard to do his own eyeliner, but the line was close to perfect anyway. He had enough practice. To avoid any more flamboyancy though, he smudged it out until it could fade into his eye shadow. A smoky eye had never failed him yet, and he didn’t think it ever would. Dark red lipstick, and he was done, ready to step back and scrutinize his whole look in the mirror. </p><p>If he was being honest with himself, he looked amazing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ok WOW this is sin
> 
> now, this takes place in the same verse as "some boys are sleeping alone" so laf is genderqueer, but uses he/him pronouns, but then also has this feminization kink? he confuses his friends too ok don't judge him
> 
> so there is intentional misgendering in this, but also he is into that shit like WHOOO
> 
> only under sexy circumstances with certain people ofc but yeah.... take note.

Lafayette looked at himself in the mirror, nervous about his appearance for the first time in years.

To be fair, he was going to dinner with a professor, and despite all claims that it wasn’t out-of-the-ordinary, it was still nerve-wracking. But unfortunately for him, it wasn’t just any professor.

Professor George Washington had invited _him_ to dinner at a high-end restaurant in uptown New York. The same professor who he’d fantasized about on more nights than he would have liked to admit, the same professor who he’d gawked at so obviously that his friends had gotten worried, _the same professor who he may or may not have thought of while jerking off-_

To say that he was anxious would be an understatement.

Another issue was the choice of venue. The place was easily the most expensive formal French restaurant in Manhattan, and that was quite the feat. Lafayette hated how cliché it was, that he was standing in front of the bathroom sink, debating over what to wear for a good half hour.

Eventually, he settled on burgundy high-waisted skinny jeans (he was weak for extra buttons) and the most conservative black sweatshirt he owned, with shiny black pumps. He always wore heels and makeup in Washington’s class, and the man never seemed bothered by it, but he wasn’t sure how well it would go over when they were alone. What if his ostentatious taste in fashion embarrassed Washington? They were going to a truly fancy place, not just from a college student’s point of view, and he was going to wear _skinny jeans?_ He had faith in his professor’s open-mindedness, and only that kept him hopeful. He wasn’t going to change himself for a restaurant (or even his _favorite_ professor) but couldn’t help worrying about how his appearance might ruin whatever chance he had of staying on the man’s good side. Lafayette tucked in his shirt for good measure.

 He was almost shaking too hard to do his own eyeliner, but the line was close to perfect anyway. He had enough practice. To avoid any more flamboyancy though, he smudged it out until it could fade into his eye shadow. A smoky eye had never failed him yet, and he didn’t think it ever would. Dark red lipstick, and he was done, ready to step back and scrutinize his whole look in the mirror.

If he was being honest with himself, he looked amazing.

Lafayette convinced himself that he was confident enough in his own taste to be happy even if Washington was uncomfortable with it. It was almost true. He’d really only be crushed for a little while, but after a few nights out getting drunk with his friends, he’d be fine.

Before walking out the door, he quickly snapped a picture of himself and texted it to Hercules, because he knew that at least his friends would have his back.

 

 

**To: Le Couturier**

[017495.jpg]

Out to dinner with Prof.

 

**From: Le Couturier**

Nice smoky eye. Is this GWash we’re talking about?

 

**To: Le Couturier**

Oui. He won’t mind this, yes?

 

**From: Le Couturier**

Laf he is going to be doing the opposite of minding this. Trust me.

 

**To: Le Couturier**

I hope you’re right

 

-

 

When he got to the restaurant, his nerves came back full-force. The situation became real for him at that moment, and he spent a good ten minutes sitting in his car, counting in French to soothe himself.

_You’ve walked into more questionable places wearing high heels, Laf. This isn’t any different._

Finally, he opened the car door and took one last deep breath before standing up. He should have thought to wear a jacket- it was colder than he had originally thought. The dorm building had shielded him from the wind when he’d first stepped out, but the broad avenue did nothing to lessen the bite. He shuffled into the restaurant as quickly as he possibly could with his arms glued to his sides.

The first thing Lafayette noticed upon entering was how ordinary the interior looked. It wasn’t nearly as intimidating as he’d envisioned, with pearls and a chandelier and velvet seats, but instead was just simple and classy. There were flowers on every table, beautiful watercolor paintings on the walls, and warm lighting. The seats were _extremely_ ornate, but not quite enough to make him afraid to sit in one.

His eyes moved around the room, albeit a tad frantically, to look for his professor, and he didn’t dare even glance at whoever was at the front desk. He was stupidly fearful of the disgusted look he assumed to be coming, but was able to swallow down his anxiety when he saw Washington seated in a corner, studying the menu. He made a bee-line for that booth, being courteous to the other patrons but not looking them in the eye at all.

Washington noticed him a few steps before he sat down and smiled, studying him too, not unkindly. “Lafayette! I’m glad you could come.”

As if there was any chance of him not coming.

Lafayette couldn’t help but say what he had been feeling the entire night. “I find it hard to believe that you’d be glad to see me wearing this,” he admitted bitterly. He said it in a joking way, but Washington frowned, and he wished he hadn’t said anything. _Good job, you’ve disappointed him less than a minute after sitting down. A new record._

“Of course I am. I’m glad to see that you’re being yourself. You look wonderful. What, has someone told you otherwise?” His eyes narrowed. “Someone in my class? I wouldn’t normally encroach upon matters of fashion sense, but depending on their intent… that could be borderline discriminatory.”

“Non, non, nothing like that,” Lafayette was quick to clarify, even though the mental image of Washington intimidating bigoted students into submission was pleasant, to say the least. “I just thought, since this is such a _chic_ place, my everyday attire might not be, how you say, suitable.”

The professor seemed to think about this for a while. In that time, he had a chance to look at the menu. Gulping at the prices and options, he almost cried thinking about how much money he was going to cost Washington. Surely, he wouldn’t bring Lafayette there if he wasn’t willing to pay up, but he himself still couldn’t imagine being on the wrong side of _that_ bill. Luckily though, Washington’s kind voice soon broke him out of his fretting. “I personally don’t think there’s anything wrong with it,” _That’s rich coming from someone wearing a three-piece suit,_ Lafayette thought. “In fact, you look like you belong here. You’re clearly sophisticated enough, and the real centerpiece is your confidence, truly-“

Lafayette was on the defense immediately, but not daring to raise his voice. “I can assure you, I _do not_ belong here, sir-“

The look Washington gave him shut him up real quick. “Don’t give me that. You can belong anywhere you want to. And although I believe that anyone can push their way into anything, I especially know that _you_ in particular can get your foot in the door wherever you’d like. Your brain and your attitude can get you places you don’t even think you deserve, I know it. You can force your way into belonging, and no one will be able to do anything about it, because you can give them a run for their money at any given moment in time. Don’t you _dare_ let someone take that from you just because they didn’t like that you wear lipstick,” he paused, at first probably to give Lafayette time to process what he’d said, but then it became a bit awkward. “If wearing your… everyday attire at a place like this, truly bothers you- do you, by any chance, like wearing dresses? Do you like suits?”

He didn’t know what to say. Out of all the possible motivational speeches his professors threw at him, all the words of encouragement from his friends when he felt useless, he had never heard any praise that made his heart stutter like Washington’s rhetoric had. He buried his face in the menu to decide on something and to escape from the undoubting, faithful look in his professor’s eyes. Lafayette couldn’t possibly follow up the first section, so he focused on the questions instead.

Despite his slight anger at Washington for believing in him so deeply and convincing him to respect himself, he had another reason aside from the professor’s gorgeous face to kiss him. _Bless him._ “Oui, I do like dresses. Suits, not as much,” They were too confining for him and with his wild hair, the traditionalism of a suit looked forced. “What does that do for me if I don’t have any dresses?”

“Why don’t you have any dresses if you like them so much?”

He wanted to say, _because I was too afraid that the snooty cashiers at OAK would ask if they were for my girlfriend,_ but instead settled for, “I don’t know.”

Washington raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment about it. He shrugged a bit and put his elbows up on the table. “I am not opposed to buying you a dress or two.”

“ _Quoi?_ ”

“You care a lot about your appearance, obviously, and that isn’t a bad thing at all. It seems to be important to you, and you also seem unnecessarily stressed about it. If I got you a formal dress, one or two you think would be suited for dinners like these, would you be less hesitant to accept invitations? Not just mine, but anyone’s?” Lafayette thought about that, but before he could answer, the waiter came over.

Washington gave his order, a rack of lamb, by pointing at the menu and trying to explain it in English. Lafayette responded to the waiters query with _Canard rôti aux fruits de Saison-_ roasted duck with fruits. It was almost cute how the professor knew no French whatsoever.

He still felt bad about the prices, but didn’t let himself panic. Instead, he tried to answer Washington’s question, another source of stress, without fainting. Professor George Washington was not only treating him to dinner, but now offering to buy him a dress. “Probably, yes, but I would never ask you to-“

“If I said I would love to- consider it a gift- would you still be uncomfortable?” Washington furrowed his brows and leaned back, as if to give Lafayette space. “Am I making this too intimate?”

_He has no idea how intimate I want this to be._

At the same time that he didn’t want Washington to spend more money on him, he also didn’t want the man to back off. “No, no, it’s alright. I was just… surprised. If you- If you really want to, I would love a new dress. But only if you… really want to.” _Nice job, Laf, still doing great with the English language, I see._

“I do,” he replied fervently, in a way that made Lafayette shiver.

Luckily, the service was fast (of course), and he quickly had food to stuff in his mouth instead of trying to see through the table and thinking about what he _could_ have been stuffing in his mouth. And Washington was preoccupied with a huge platter of lamb, so understandably, not a lot of talking took place. Lafayette somehow found it in himself not to eat like a savage, and the only hint at his humanity was an occasional pleased grunt or sigh, because he’d forgotten how duck tasted.

God, George Washington would never know how much the dinner had been appreciated.

When they were done, the waiter came back with a small ramekin and placed it in front of Lafayette. The professor nodded to him, as if asking him to explain the dish, as if Lafayette, as a French person, didn’t know what it was by default. “Ah, white chocolate soufflé,” The waiter said, and looked at him like he was thinking the same thing.

Washington was going to kill him. Or he was going to kill Washington. When the waiter brought over a soufflé, he was sure he was in heaven. When the professor stared at his mouth intently as he took small bites, he was certain that he was not quite dead yet, and that God was poking him with a stick as he suffered.

“Are you ready to go?” Washington asked as he swiped his credit card back into his pocket (of course without letting Lafayette see the receipt.)

“Oui,” Lafayette nodded and stood up, not sure of what was going to happen next. He couldn’t bear the thought of the man leaving him right then.

Washington could apparently read minds, as proven by his next words. “Now I know you brought your own car, but Talbots is just across the street, and I thought I might keep my promise of buying _you_ a new dress,” He smiled, _dieu,_ and it was dazzling.

Lafayette was drunk on just the smallest amount of attention given to him. “What could I possibly owe you?” He murmured as they walked out onto the sidewalk, even though it was mostly a rhetorical question.

“Nothing,” He felt Washington’s lips graze his temple, and his breath caught. “You owe me nothing. Your own desires… That is a different matter. But I expect nothing, and I won’t pressure you into giving me anything above that. And we are going to have a talk about this before anything serious. Understood?”

“Understood,” he replied, humming blissfully and grabbing at Washington’s hand. He knew they’d have to talk about their relationship if there was to be one, because of the whole teacher-student relationship issue, but Lafayette already knew that his professor would never abuse his power over a student’s grades. Washington was one of the most honorable men he knew.

They walked across the street diagonally, Lafayette’s heels clicking at every step, and into the aforementioned store. It was, unfortunately, not as warm as the restaurant. A cashier waved kindly, but Lafayette was still too apprehensive to wave back. Washington did so for him without comment.

“After you pick something you like, you can bring it to me and wait outside while I pay, if you’d prefer?” Washington had probably noticed Lafayette’s embarrassment, and was rubbing the small of his back soothingly as he spoke. It was a clear out, in case he was still uncomfortable with the whole situation. He had to appreciate that effort and considered it, but eventually shook his head. He could handle being there. Lafayette knew that if any issue arose, the man would be there for him.

“Non, it’s alright,” he said quietly, his hand lingering on Washington’s shoulder before he pulled away to look in the dress section. It wasn’t hard to find something he liked, but harder to find something formal. He pulled a black dress out to inspect it with more consideration. It was simple, housewife-y, modest, anything but his style. Somehow though, he found himself liking it. It had a pintucked bodice with buttons and a sash around the waist that tied off into a bow to the side. It looked like something a little girl would wear to a funeral, but it was certainly formal and kind of cute, even.

He went to find his professor. It was easy enough; Washington was frowning in thought near the blouses, but quickly turned to Lafayette, having heard him coming. He held up his choice with pride. “Ah, you found something. That’s nice,” He sounded like he’d been caught doing something shameful. “I also found something, not quite a dress, but I thought you’d…” Washington coughed awkwardly and raised his arm to display what he’d picked up. A sleeveless white blouse with a black peter pan collar, and a black mini skirt. Lafayette almost gasped, they were so adorable. The skirt was a little too short to be called “formal,” but how could he say no to something like that?

“ _C’est trop mignon, j’adore,_ ” he said, looking at the outfit lovingly. Washington smiled again, albeit stiffly, probably because he had no idea what Lafayette was saying. “I like it, yes.”

“Alright, shall we be off then?” He nodded, letting himself be led to the cash register. The cashier smiled at them kindly and asked the customary ‘will that be all’ but didn’t even spare them a second glance while she bagged the items. Lafayette didn’t dare look at the receipt before Washington shoved it into his pocket for fear of giving himself an aneurysm.

“Have a good night!” The woman waved once again as they walked out. This time, he waved back.

 

-

 

After a short discussion, it was decided that Lafayette would follow Washington in his car back to the man’s flat (“if you’d like,” Washington had said, and he couldn’t say _yes_ fast enough.)

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it was not that.

After parking their respective cars in the garage, they had gone into the main building. Washington seemed to glaze over the lobby, but Lafayette was astounded. It had a _piano_ and a _fireplace._ Of course, he should have expected the man to be used to it, he lived there, but still. A fireplace in the lobby. “Oh, good, there’s a waterfall, too,” he muttered bitterly as they drew towards the elevator, which was indeed right in front of a waterfall. _Do professors really get paid that much?_ He had to wonder. _Apparently so. Why else would tuition be so high?_

It made sense though, he realized during the elevator ride, which was astonishingly long. Washington _was_ one of the best professors in the entire school; him leaving could bring the campus to its knees. What better way to keep an employee close than to give them no reason to leave?

Finally, the elevator stopped. His stomach lurched when he looked at the number on the screen. They were 47 floors up. Holy fucking shit.

Washington must have noticed his look of trepidation. “This place does take high-rise flats seriously. Wait until you see the view.”

He pulled Lafayette out of the elevator shaft, grabbing a hand with one of his and holding the bag in the other. He seemed excited to show Lafayette his flat and honestly, it was adorable, so he let himself be led down the surprisingly long hallway. Luckily, it wasn’t a long walk. Washington stopped after 6 pairs of doors had gone by and let his hand go to fish for his own keys. He picked out the right one, turned it in the keyhole, and pushed the door open- all those actions seemed insignificant when he stepped aside to let Lafayette in, and turned on the lights.

The kitchen was immediately to his left, with granite countertops and a clearly high-end refrigerator. It was spotless, other than a few odd utensils and a bottle of vodka in the corner. The living room was fairly clean too, a dark leather couch, Washington’s laptop on the coffee table, a bookshelf filled to the brim, with another smaller bookshelf being his TV stand. He’d expected all of that, that was familiar, but what stood out was the window directly in front of him.

The sky wasn’t quite black yet, but still the warm lights of Manhattan flickered through, as though winning over the sun in a fight to be the main attraction. Most were yellow, sporadic even then, but the blues and reds were sparser in between, coming only from towers and crossings. Startlingly nearby, a streetlight illuminated a small section of green, what must have been Central Park.

He almost gasped. The city, _his city,_ was beautiful. He had never desired to call New York his own more than at that moment. He hadn’t been living there for very long- only 3 years- and still got homesick for _Auvergne,_ his birthplace; it was still hard to let it go. But he loved New York City, and tonight only solidified his wish to call it home. The humble attitude of a restaurant that had a menu worth his tuition, the waiter and the cashier never sparing him, a presumed man in makeup, a second look, the city lights that could easily replicate the stars in rural France he so longed to see again.

It may not have made any sense out of context, but right then, he started crying. Not dramatically, by any means, but a few tears escaped, and when Washington’s concerned face appeared in his line of vision, he let out a quiet sob. “Thank you,” he said, to see the worried expression disappear to make way for something softer. “Thank you,” Lafayette repeated, before distinctly feeling himself be led out of the room with a hand on the small of his back.

They went to the left, and Lafayette’s best estimate was that they passed through the bedroom because of the large white blob in the center of the room. He was gently pushed back into the bathroom and allowed himself to look into the mirror. His makeup was only slightly runny, but it was enough to be noticeable. He thanked god that he hadn’t lined his lower lash line, or he would have truly looked like a hot mess.

Lafayette didn’t dare wipe his eyes, knowing that would make it worse. Luckily, Washington soon turned his chin away from the mirror towards him, and he had apparently wet a cotton pad, because there was a cold and wet softness against his hot cheek, wiping away his tears. That one got thrown away, and another came to gently wipe off his eye shadow and eyeliner. He closed his eyes, letting himself be held close, and sighed in relief. The cool water soothed his fevered skin, and Lafayette leaned into the touch heavily. One more time, he heard that cotton pad go in the trash, and a last one cleaned his lipstick off.

Finally, he opened his eyes. “Thank you,” he said for the last time before pulling the man in for a kiss. Lafayette knew they had to talk about it, but he didn’t want to talk. He wanted to be kissed and led and touched and thrown onto the bed like a doll.

Washington reciprocated passionately, but didn’t let it get heated. He didn’t ask for a talk, instead pulling the scrunchie out of Lafayette’s hair and speaking softly. “You’re welcome. Do you want to try on what I got you?”

Lafayette nodded with an inappropriate amount of eagerness. Washington had placed the bag on the counter, but was currently moving away to walk out of the bathroom and close the door behind him. He was almost disappointed that the man didn’t stay to watch him undress, but pulled his sweatshirt off and toed off his pumps to get his pants off. They were a bit more difficult, what with how tight around the ankles they were, yet he managed to succeed with little incident. Lafayette debated which outfit to wear, but eventually pulled out the blouse and skirt. He imagined that Washington would be ecstatic to see him wearing the clothes he had picked. The blouse fit him surprisingly well, even leaving room for a bit of extra space and when he pulled up the skirt, a small puff of fabric hang out from where he’d tucked the blouse in. The skirt, on the other hand, was tight and flared on his hips. He preferred it that way though.

Before heading out to face his professor, he slipped the pumps back on. After only a few minutes, Lafayette was opening the door and walking out, probably looking as small as he felt. He balled his hands into fists at his waist and slightly curled in. He was suddenly a bit embarrassed about the whole outfit and wished he could go back in the bathroom and never come back out.

Washington was sitting on the bed, looking over him with a focused heat. It wasn’t predatory- _you’re not a piece of meat,_ he’d probably say if he could see what Lafayette was thinking. He stood up without saying anything, but when he wrapped an arm around the person’s waist, he spoke quietly. “Come over here,” He was led by Washington to a full-body mirror in the corner.

He could see himself, an indeterminate look on his face (along with some extra eye shadow that hadn’t come off,) the white of the blouse contrasting with his exposed arms, and the skirt falling a good half a foot above his knee. He could see Washington behind him, looking at the mirror with a small smile. He stayed still, trying to be good, trying not to be nervous.

“Look at you,” the man cooed from behind Lafayette, running a hand down his bicep. He eventually moved his hands to Lafayette’s ribs, then his waist, then his hips. He splayed his fingers there, reaching to the hem of the skirt. Lafayette sucked in a weak breath as the hands skated over his bare thighs and hiked up the skirt only a little before letting it fall back into place, then moved back up again. “How do you look?”

He only hoped that Washington hadn’t noticed how hard he was already. Lafayette had been staring at the mirror the entire time, what he saw seeming almost unattached to what he felt. “Pretty,” he whispered, because that’s what he wanted to be, and what the man probably wanted to hear. “I look… pretty.”

“You do, don’t you?” Washington said fondly, as if he didn’t have his fingers up Lafayette’s skirt, as if he wasn’t drawing circles on Lafayette’s hips through his underwear. “But you look pretty all the time, how do you look _now?_ ”

That time, he had no idea what his professor wanted him to say, and he was unbearably aroused by the image of Washington’s hands up his skirt in the mirror, so he just said what he truly wanted. “Like a girl.”

The circles stopped, and Washington looked a bit concerned. “Not necessarily. Do you want to look like a girl?”

Lafayette closed his eyes against the shame. He usually wasn’t embarrassed about his gender identity, what with the ‘I don’t know, man, I’m just both’ aspect of it, and he didn’t mind people being confused (“You feel masculine-ish, but like to dress feminine-ish?” and a personal favorite, a well-meaning question asked by Alex when he was especially shit-faced one night: “Wait- so, you use masculine pronouns and titles, but you would prefer to be called a girl? No offense, but how do you not shoot yourself with conflicting interests like _that?_ ” “ _Je ne sais pas,_ they don’t feel so conflicting to me,” he’d laughed back, while Alexander Hamilton made a most amusing confused face. “Do not worry, it’s harder to understand if you haven’t experienced it.”) But to admit it in a sexual context was a completely different story. He trusted Washington, especially pertaining to making sure he was comfortable, but…

“Sometimes, yes,” He didn’t open his eyes.

“Right now?”

“Oui,” _Don’t look to see his uncomfortable face._

“Can I call you a girl?” He gave a nod, and the circles returned. “Tell me if it’s not good,” Another nod.

He still wasn’t completely placated, still on edge from the confession, but the lingering touches on his hips kept him grounded. He would probably die if he had a panic attack right there, but after a while of silence, he was almost sure that he felt the tell-tale sign of one- his chest tightening.

“You’re so pretty,” Washington said. “Open your eyes,” Lafayette wasn’t sure he could, but determined not to make a fool out of himself, he obeyed quickly. As a reward, Washington pressed a kiss right below his ear. “My good girl,” the man mumbled against his skin. He felt a moan being ripped out of his throat unbidden, and he grabbed shakily onto the cuff of Washington’s suit, his eyes suddenly wide open.

“Please, _dieu,_ yes, yes it’s good,” He had no idea how something so small could affect him so much, but Washington was smiling, and moved one hand to comb through his hair, keeping the other under his skirt. It clearly didn’t matter to him. In the mirror, he could see the bulge of his professor’s hand moving further inward to stroke him through his boxers, but registered it belatedly, only moaning when Washington squeezed gently.

He moans again, this time in anguish when the man strokes over him again once and pulls away. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, angel,” He would probably be berating himself for making the most undignified whimper at that, but he couldn’t think of anything past Washington’s hand. “Could you be a good girl and wait until the morning when we can talk about this?”

 _How dare he tease like that only to conveniently mention that we need to have a talk,_ Lafayette thought, but nodded anyway and pulled his hands from their position on his professor’s wrists. He turned around to be gently pushed onto the bed, and Washington was quick to follow, looming over him when he laid back.

“I’m so sorry,” He really looked like he didn’t mean to let it get that far, so Lafayette leaned up to kiss him in reassurance. He was a little fuzzy from the whole night in the first place, and a lot had been revealed. Perhaps not the best night for sex, especially before the talk Washington wanted to have.

He only then realized that he didn’t know what to call the man out loud. Professor was too weird, Washington was too formal, and Sir might have come off as sexual. “George?” Lafayette waited patiently for an answer, as _someone_ didn’t seem too keen on ending their next kiss.

“Yes?” He didn’t correct Lafayette, so that must have been the preferred name. He’d say so otherwise.

“Thank you.”

“Any time.”

After that, things seemed to go by quickly with little noise other than rustling and a distant buzzing. He felt completely fucked out despite nothing even happening, and he was full, and his high heels were being taken off.  He had no reason to be really upset, and had many reasons not to be. Sweatpants were pulled up under his skirt before George took it off, the blouse was unbuttoned and he was briefly leaned against the headboard so a much warmer shirt could slip on. Lafayette was half-asleep by the time the man came back to bed in his own sleeping clothes, but didn’t hesitate to rub against him like a cat as soon as he’d gotten under the covers. He could feel George’s chuckle rumble in his chest.

“Good night, Laf.”

“ _Bonne nuit._ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY  
> THE CONSENT TALK AND PORN U'VE BEEN PATIENTLY WAITING FOR
> 
> hope u enjoy

As soon as Lafayette had woken up, he panicked. It should have been about the fact that he was in a bed he didn’t recognize and was wearing clothes he didn’t own, but his university student instincts came first, so his first thought was _9 AM lecture._ He sweated over it, even considering wiggling out of the warm arms wrapped around him, for a whole minute before remembering that it was Saturday.

_Smooth._

He sighed and covered his face with his hands, partly out of relief and partly embarrassment. Unfortunately, the memory of Washington standing behind him with a hand up his skirt was still haunting him. Lafayette had honestly expected for the entire thing to be a hallucination- he’d stayed up late enough for it. But no, he could see the blouse and skirt folded on the dresser, his heels neatly tucked under the bedside table. The last night had been surreal. Watching himself in the mirror, the room dark with the exception of light from the bathroom seeping in behind him. Even the sounds of Manhattan muffled and far away, although in retrospect, it was probably just how high up Washington’s flat was, rather than his own starry-eyed detachment.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Instead, he tried to turn around without disturbing the still-sleeping man. Lafayette only wanted to have something else to feel, something tactile to ground him while he gained his bearings.

And as if the world was specifically plotting his downfall, because when he turned around, Lafayette was met with dark thoughtful eyes. He tried not to let his surprise show but didn’t find any words to say. There he was, in George Washington’s bed, in George Washington’s clothes, opening and closing his mouth like a fish because he’d been caught off guard by the stillness of a _seasoned veteran._

_D’accord, he knows how to stay still and keep quiet, and obviously he wakes up at the ass crack of dawn._

The seasoned veteran in question was staring at him and raised an eyebrow. His smile was amused, but it was not unkind. George looked at him like he’d done something wonderful. Lafayette could not for the life of him figure out what that might have been.

“Are you done panicking?” Ever the observer, George had of course noticed his anxiety. He considered nodding- and then realized what his professor might have assumed.

“I wasn’t… It wasn’t about you- I was just worried about my classes,” Lafayette explained quickly, not willing to ever let George think he regretted what they’d done. “But then I realized that it’s a Saturday.”

George stretched out on the bed, further moving into his space, and apparently didn’t mind letting the silence stretch out either. The man returned his gaze to Lafayette and looked pleasantly surprised, as if he hadn’t remembered what day it was. “It _is_ a Saturday.”

Lafayette wasn’t sure what that was supposed to imply. “Oui.”

“So, then. Not sure what I have in terms of breakfast other than Cheerios,” he said this while scrunching up his face apologetically. “But one of the other professors gifted me some ridiculously expensive baking chocolate, and I am fortunately not a baker. Hot chocolate?”

How dare the man be so charming and generous when Lafayette had been damn near convinced by his drill sergeant façade. He supposed that people, teachers in particular, could force themselves to act a certain way at work, separate from their actual personality, but that didn’t change the fact that he had no idea what to do now that the mask had come off. Even the prelude last night hadn’t prepared him. “ _Cur non_?” There was a bit of silence, when he realized that George didn’t know French. “I mean, yes.”

George nodded and detangled himself from the blankets (and Lafayette’s long legs, for that matter,) much to the aforementioned person’s dismay. He supposed it was necessary, but that didn’t stop him from whining when the warmth disappeared from his side. He could vaguely hear his professor snort, but now it was more to the right, near the doorway.

“Are you coming with me?”

Lafayette groaned again, punctuated by childish thrashing against the sheets. George was patient and waited against the doorframe for an answer. An answer he was soon provided with, when Lafayette finally dragged himself into a sitting position, then off the bed as if he was climbing out of a coffin. He shuffled over to where George stood and pressed his forehead into the man’s chest, leaning into him with a limpness that surely had the man holding up against a good half of his body weight. A warm hand came to rub circles on his back in an attempt to placate the apparent suffering he was experiencing.

Unfortunately, it only served a reminder to Lafayette of how those hands felt on his hips the night before. He tried to gracefully accept his fate; he would most likely be tortured by thoughts such as those throughout the entire morning. Life was constantly fucking him over. His endeavor proved more than difficult when George tilted his chin up so their foreheads were touching before sliding his hand down to the small of Lafayette’s back to gently guide him to the kitchen. Lafayette wasn’t sure if he was pleased or distressed by that, but he followed along anyway as George got out a pan, milk, sugar, and the chocolate. As he thought about it more, he was actually quite grateful for the offer of hot chocolate, considering how cold it had been outside (and how cold it was in the apartment compared to the enveloping warmth of George’s bed and arms.) He’d always been fond of it as a child- Auvergne was wet and cold and rocky, so _chocolat chaud_ became an expectation very quickly.

While he was reminiscing, George had already poured the milk and turned on the burner. He didn’t seem to notice how desperate Lafayette was to have the man’s hands back on him. Mostly because he was busy with chopping the chocolate into smaller pieces and frowning whenever a sliver of it fell onto the floor. Lafayette would have been pouty, but it was too astounding to see his professor in such a domestic scenario.

Even then, he looked calculating and focused, every movement planned out beforehand.

When George went to drop the chocolate squares into the pan, he noticed Lafayette staring. “What?”

“You don’t seem like a person who cooks a lot.”

“Probably because I’m not,” he answered with a small smile. “There are just some recipes you never forget, or rather, recipes you force yourself to remember because it’s negative three degrees outside.”

Lafayette laughed at that. It was certainly true. “I had this a lot when I was younger, and it makes me- how you say- sentimental,” he admitted even though he wasn’t sure that was the word he was looking for. “Did you?”

“No, I mostly drank sweet tea or lemonade. My mother physically forced the former on me, but it was just so I’d stop drinking Pepsi,” George grinned. “You have to remember I grew up in 1970’s Dixie. Virginia is a lot hotter than New York or France as well. But who can say no to hot chocolate?”

“You don’t seem like you’re from the South,” Lafayette said it before he could stop himself and think of how that might have sounded. _Merde._ Why did he have to screw up like that? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

George turned to him with a natural smile, seeing right through him with ease. “No need to apologize. I know how close stereotypes can come to reality, especially when they’re concerning the South. How could I forget? My family’s estate is a plantation house. Tobacco grew under our porch. There were only two options for breakfast; chicken and waffles or biscuits and gravy. It’s true.”

Lafayette smiled back, but didn’t laugh, because George had almost completely avoided what he’d originally implied (albeit inappropriately,) and now he was interested. “What about racist kids?”

“Not the kids, really,” he corrected, adding sugar into the pan as he spoke. “So much as their parents. I’d always seen it, and I knew why it happened, but I couldn’t bring myself to be angry when they said I couldn’t come over to play with their sons, because I didn’t mind being alone. I probably should have been more offended by the principle of it. My mother always tried to shield me from it, so it was easier to read my books, pretend to be disappointed, and act like I hadn’t noticed.”

Lafayette nodded. It felt strange to learn about George’s childhood; he’d subconsciously forgotten that the man had ever been a kid. Professor George Washington was constantly put up on a pedestal while every student on campus assumed he didn’t have to eat. Even other teachers spoke of him like he was bulletproof. As far as they knew, he was. He didn’t talk about his past very much, and very rarely confirmed or denied any of the rumors. Lafayette could respect that. The Military Strategy professor, Knox, had apparently fought side-by-side with him but unlike George, he favored ‘when I was in the war’ stories over reticence. It was a bit embarrassing.

“Anyway,” his professor’s voice startled him out of his reverie. “It didn’t consciously bother me too much back then, but of course, now is different. Now is always different,” He sounded equal parts exasperated by and proud of the world’s advancements. After what seemed like forever, George got out two mugs and carefully poured the chocolate into each, handing one to Lafayette. But no, the man didn’t _just_ give it to him, instead clasping his hands around the warm mug, then keeping his own hands where they were, cupping Lafayette’s. “My childhood isn’t an uncomfortable topic for me, but I would like to change the subject in favor of the talk we need to have. I think now is as good a time as any. Would that be alright with you?”

 _Right. The talk. Definitely not as ominous as it sounds._ “ _Oui, d’accord_. What exactly is it that we need to talk about? I know-“ _you’re a professor, I’m your student, you bought me dinner and a dress, you invited me to your apartment, and we almost had sex in front of a mirror. Any taboo I’m missing?_ “-the basics of what... this is about, but uh, what exactly should we talk about?”

“For starters, the fact that I’m in a legal position of power over you, and what that means for this relationship,” George said sternly, but his look was still soft. Regrettably, he pulled his hands away as well. That almost made Lafayette wince. That was the last thing he wanted to talk about, especially if it meant George was rebuffing him. But he did say ‘relationship,’ and Lafayette _knew_ he was a man of honor. “I thought about what we should do while you were sleeping, so I have a general plan, but I need to make sure it’s alright by you. I need to know that you want this. This is on your terms. Within reason, of course.”

Lafayette was near dizzy with relief. “Yes, I want whatever you’ll give me,” he breathed, trying to cover his excited smile with the rim of the mug as he cautiously sipped the still-hot chocolate. He tried to speak again with less childish enthusiasm. “What is your plan?”

George, for his part, didn’t let his firm expression crack, but he seemed equally relieved by the consent. “Chiefly, we’re going to have to tell the dean, since-“

“ _Quoi?_ Why would we ever do that?”

“Lafayette,” He gave a warning look, and Lafayette schooled his expression to something less affronted. “I know I don’t have to tell you this, but this is not the movies. Secret relationships don’t work. And more importantly, _lying_ doesn’t work. The student handbook does. And the student handbook says that professor-student relationships aren’t banned, but that it is required for you to tell the dean so grading and legal arrangements can be made.”

“Oh,” And suddenly, he felt like a child. To be fair, the only time he’d read the student handbook was when he was learning English, but he didn’t have a right to snap at George before even letting him explain. “Sorry.”

George nodded, taking a sip of his own drink. “I’m sorry too. I should have begun with what the student handbook said. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he paused, and then added, as if to reassure Lafayette, “This way, at least, you can tell your friends without worrying about us getting caught. And, well, we can’t get caught, if everyone already knows.”

“Right,” Lafayette swallowed down his guilt as best he could. For all his worry about not telling the dean, he hadn’t even thought about what would happen if he told his friends. How could George trust him when he was so naïve? “What do we do next?”

“Ignore any disparaging comments to the best of our ability. While it’s better that people know, and _legal_ for that matter, professors and students alike might give us a hard time.”

That was easy enough. The only unfair criticism he took was from himself anyway. George seemed like he wasn’t easy to ruffle either, but Lafayette didn’t know for certain. “Alright. Will you be okay?”

“Of course. I understand why my co-workers may have moral quarrels with what I’m doing, and I understand that they may view me differently for this. That’s their call. But any that direct those quarrels at _you_ will hear from _me_ ,” George narrowed his eyes at that. “It’s just unprofessional to approach a student about a personal relationship. If they have a problem, they can bring it up with me.”

Lafayette admittedly loved the idea of George threatening anyone who bothered him, but he also suspected that wasn’t exactly what the man intended to do. He was more sensible than that. “What else?”

“Discuss boundaries. I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t say no,” he said, quiet and sober.

“Good thing I don’t intend to,” and at the horrified look George gave him, he quickly added, “-unless I need it. But I don’t think I will.”

“Do you want a safeword?”

Not really, no he didn’t. Safewords were hard to remember for him and honestly more trouble than they were worth. For others, maybe, but Lafayette was too easily strung out and also not a native English speaker. “Could we just use the stoplight colors?” Green, yellow, and red were simple enough words to remember.

“Of course,” George nodded thoughtfully. “Just remember you don’t have to wait for me to ask what your color is if it’s yellow or red.”

Lafayette nodded back and pondered for a moment before speaking again. “And about the girl… thing, you can honestly just assume I’m always alright with it if it’s sexual.”

“Not in any other context though?”

“ _Exacte,_ ” Lafayette felt strange discussing that, considering even though he’d told friends about it, he’d never told someone who actually planned on using it during sex. Not that he didn’t trust George to the fullest extent, but it was still a little embarrassing.

Luckily, the man didn’t draw it out. “Understood. Is there anything you know for certain you don’t want?”

“I don’t like being left alone, or being yelled at, or being scared,” he said, shrugging. George blinked before putting his mug down. He walked forward to Lafayette, expression unreadable, and stroked his fingers through his hair, a thumb rubbing over the downy curls near his hairline. Lafayette, for the most part, averted his gaze to the side out of self-consciousness. He couldn’t help it when the professor’s attention was solely focused on him. George smiled softly and kissed his forehead.

“Alright. I won’t do any of that. Is there anything you know you especially do want?”

Lafayette could have died of mortification, but instead he just gave the man a begrudging look. What more did George want from him? Every single fantasy he’d ever had? “ _Je ne sais pas,_ I like praise, I like getting my face fucked, I like wearing makeup and panties, what else?”

George could probably tell he was getting uncomfortable with the questions and backed off, but overall looked pleasantly surprised with what he heard. Again, Lafayette felt guilty about becoming snappy with him, pressing his face into George’s hand and nuzzling there like a puppy. He didn’t think George had ever actually been angry with him for getting testy, but it was still nice to get the reassurance when the man smiled warmly and kissed his nose.

“Okay, no more of that, then,” Lafayette _wanted_ to apologize for being so disrespectful, but George didn’t give him the opportunity to, continuing to talk. “Do you want to go back to bed? I can warm up the chocolate again later.”

Lafayette nodded fervently, not trusting his voice to work without cracking, and surged forward to kiss him hard. He could taste the sweet confection on the man’s tongue when he opened his mouth to let George do as he pleased, and shuddered when that tongue swiped across his bottom lip. A leg came up between his. Lafayette almost whimpered at the pressure, and he was forced to walk backwards, George following after, neither of them willing to pull away.

The bedroom door was still open from when they had previously emerged, but once inside, George hooked one arm under his thigh and the other under his arm, successfully lifting him off the ground. Lafayette almost gasped at how little effort it had taken and held on a bit tighter to the man’s shoulders. Finally, he was hefted onto the bed. He was allowed to scoot backwards, towards the headboard, as George climbed on with him. He leaned in with brief, teasing kisses that made Lafayette huff with frustration. He honestly wanted George to fuck him as soon as possible.

But that didn’t seem to be on the professor’s agenda.

He ceased the light kisses and gently took hold of Lafayette’s hair to reel him in for a harder kiss that made him lightheaded. Lafayette moaned softly into the kiss, pressing in and hoping for something more. He wanted it so badly. If George pulled away, he was sure he’d be babbling as soon as his lips were unoccupied. A hand trailed up his thigh, a mere graze, and he almost moaned again.

“You said you want whatever I’ll give you?” George muttered when he pulled away. He didn’t stray far though, murmuring his words into Lafayette’s jawline.

“ _Oui_ , yes, anything,” he breathed harshly. Lafayette wanted so much, it was unbelievable how desperate he was for anything George would give him.

“Can I use my tongue then?”

Lafayette groaned loudly, arching his back and thrashing wildly at just the thought of having the man’s head between his thighs. “Yes, _dieu, merde._ ”

George raised an eyebrow at him even as he was peeling away Lafayette’s (or rather, his own) sweatpants. “Yes, what?”

He didn’t even have the decency to act like he was embarrassed. He had been ready to beg from the moment he was placed on the bed. “ _Please,_ please use your tongue on me, please.”

“Good girl,” he said with a certain pride before pulling the sweatpants off all the way. “Take your shirt off for me?” Lafayette quickly obeyed, leaning up to do so. He let the shirt fall on the bed beside him, along with the pants. “You’re so gorgeous,” He whined, and his cock jerked at the praise, not going unnoticed by George.

Nothing went unnoticed, really. “I’m your good girl,” he breathed ecstatically. “ _Papa, si’l vous plait_.”

Lafayette didn’t have time to feel self-conscious, or anxious about how the man was going to react, before George was hastily shoving a hand into his boxers.

“Say it again.”

“Daddy, _please,_ ” It was a reedy, breathless whine, and he couldn’t stop himself from digging his fingers into George’s shoulder blades, because there was a broad warm hand working over his cock. He couldn’t think, not when he was being touched like that. His mind was wiped blank when George swiped a thumb over his slit- and kept it there, rubbing back and forth absently. “ _Putain de merde._ ”

Before long, George pulled his hand away, much to Lafayette’s chagrin, only to hook his fingers on the hem of the boxers and tug them off the person’s hips. These, he let fall to the floor, before pressing down for another kiss. He let his lips trail down to Lafayette’s jawline, then his neck, his collarbone, his nipples. It was unbearably slow, and he was sure George was purposefully taking his sweet time with it. After a few seconds of teasing him, his professor dragged his lips over Lafayette’s ribcage, breath fanning out across his stomach, the muscles fluttering under his touch. It was near disconcerting how easily Lafayette was worked up by the kisses. His cock, already flushed dark, twitched feebly.

George finally moved to his groin, nuzzling into the juncture between his thigh and cock. His mouth was _so close_ and Lafayette was near the point of begging again. He broke when George moved right past his aching erection.

“Please, daddy, god, you said-“ He bucked his hips up, needy and urgent.

George hushed him and pressed a thumb down on his perineum. He let out a quavering moan and trembled against the sheets, full of tense anticipation. He dropped back onto the bed, unable to keep rigid with the stimulation to his prostate. He was already exhausted. “I know what I said, baby girl,” George crooned, the words vibrating on his skin, while Lafayette all but sobbed into the pillow. “Be patient for me.”

Lafayette nodded without even thinking about it, and got a wet kiss to the base of his cock as reward.

It turns out that he didn’t have to wait so long, although he didn’t get exactly what he was expecting, or what he was asking for. After a minute more of only getting marks sucked into his inner thigh as George pressed his thumb in harder, he pulled back. Lafayette almost whined, but then his tongue was replacing a thumb, and George was lavishing attention on his hole, curling his tongue and trying to spread him out further. Lafayette couldn’t stop himself from babbling this time.

“ _Oh mon dieu, je ne peux pas le faire, c’est trop, papa, j’ai besoin-_ “ He was crying out and writhing on George’s tongue desperately, when he suddenly realized that this is exactly where he wanted to be. Underneath his professor, forced to take whatever was given to him. It, along with the sensation of George fucking his tongue in and out with no respite, made his head spin like nothing else could.

After he’d cut off the string of French pleas, there was nothing to fill the silence, other than both their heaving breaths and filthy wet noises from between his legs, where George was working tirelessly. After a while though, the man apparently got sick of the quiet, because a hand wrapped around Lafayette’s cock, loosely stroking him.

He could have screamed.

After going for what seemed like forever without George touching his cock, it felt like there was energy prickling beneath his skin when he was finally given the contact. Like he had touched a live wire. “Daddy, daddy, _papa,_ please,” he sobbed, thrashing against the sheets. Everything around him besides George’s tongue and fingers became white noise, and Lafayette couldn’t think clearly if he wanted to. Truly, he didn’t. Being at George’s mercy like this, strung out and helpless, was incomparable.

Before he knew it, he was coming hard, fucking back onto the tongue inside him. His eyes were squeezed shut, and when he finally opened them, there were black spots in his vision. Lafayette didn’t think he could sit up- period- but gave George an apologetic look as soon as he’d regained control of his muscles. He was mostly dead to the world. “I’m sorry,” he winced the words, both because he’d come so quickly and because of how his cock ached with the earlier rough strokes.

“You don’t need to do a thing,” George replied simply. Lafayette was going to thank him for being so generous, then think of a way to make it up to him, but as his eyes trailed lower, he saw a small bottle of lube leaned against George’s thigh where he was kneeling. _Oh._ Lafayette fell back onto the bed with a groan, realizing what that meant and subsequently spreading his legs as wide as he could. He could- and he _wanted_ to- take it. The man raised an eyebrow at him, a wordless question, and he nodded as fervently as he could with the limited energy he was able to muster. George looked down with a smile. “You’re my good girl. Tell me if it’s too much,” He patted Lafayette’s hip lovingly, and if his heart had already been sped up, it was now beating out of his chest. He knew George would take care of him, would adore him in a way he couldn’t have possibly deserved. This just proved that. He nodded again.

Before long, there was a rough, slick finger teasing his entrance, and his legs almost reflexively snapped shut just at the touch to his oversensitive skin, but he didn’t allow it. He truly wanted it. Lafayette only twitched when that finger gently thrust into him, knuckle-deep. George stopped there, looking up for reassurance, which Lafayette quickly gave in the form of holding his professor’s wrist right where it was.

He didn’t bother with going overly slow, soon adding another finger, but he was always gentle. Unfortunately, even with George’s efforts, Lafayette was still enduring a raw ache as his cock filled out again. It wasn’t unbearable by any means though, and he even enjoyed the discomfort in some odd way.

Then, the three fingers currently in him found his prostate. Lafayette yelped. Loudly. That was something. His cock twitched weakly. He didn’t fret, figuring that George would avoid touching him there if his soreness was obvious.

He was only half-right.

George continued to rut his fingers against that spot until Lafayette pleaded, interrupted by whimpers and quiet moans, with him. “ _Papa_ , I’m gonna come again, please-” The movement stopped, and he breathed a sigh of both relief and disappointment.

“Do you think you could manage that?”

“ _Quoi?_ ”

“Do you think you could come again now, and again, when I fuck you?” His voice didn’t give his own desires away, reassuring him that it would be alright if he didn’t want to, or couldn’t.

Lafayette considered it silently. Oh _god_ , did he want to. He didn’t know if he could manage it though, what with how sensitive he already was just from one orgasm.

“Baby girl, you don’t have to. You’ve done so well for me already,” George cooed, leaning his forehead on Lafayette’s tenderly. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

The praise only egged him on, despite the reassurance. He knew he didn’t have to, but he wanted to. He wanted to be good for George so badly, and he wanted to feel the electrifying ache when he came a third time. “I want to.”

George seemed to search his eyes for any sign of discomfort, but when he only found determination, he pulled back and continued his assault on that sweet spot inside of Lafayette, focusing in with a new-found incentive. Lafayette, for the most part, could only clutch the pillowcase and curled his toes until the soles of his feet twinged. It felt unbelievable. His stomach almost hurt with how tightly his muscles were clenched, but god, it was so good. He could feel George’s erection against his thigh, heavy and thick, and almost moaned at the realization as he bucked to try and feel it out. The movement pressed the man’s fingers into his prostate even further, and for a moment Lafayette couldn’t breathe.

“Please, daddy, please, I need to come, god-“ He pressed his heels into the mattress furiously and grabbed George’s other wrist with a breathless gasp when he began working over Lafayette’s cock again. It was partly to push away and partly to keep his hand exactly where it was.

George paused in his ministrations to look up at Lafayette with a considerate expression. “Color?”

“ _Vert, vert-_ green!” Lafayette let his grip on George’s forearm slacken, as not to falsely worry him again. He was sensitive, yes, but he was enjoying the too-much intensity of every touch, maybe more than he should have. He was desperate for it.

At the reassurance, George redoubled his efforts, pressing his thumb into Lafayette’s perineum, stroking his prostate from two different angles in a way that made Lafayette have to choke back a sob. The other hand swiped at the head of his cock every so often and twisted roughly on the upstroke. It didn’t take long for his tensing against the mattress to reach a peak and for him to spill- _again-_ all over George’s already sticky hand. He moaned weakly, his thighs burning and trembling with the effort. Lafayette couldn’t have opened his eyes if he’d wanted to, but he heard a shuffling sound, then water running, and then the hand came back to rest on his fluttering stomach muscles.

George petted his stomach and thighs gently, avoiding his groin for now. After what seemed like a while of inaction, Lafayette could feel lips on his inner thigh. “You’re so good for me, how did I get so lucky? My sweet girl,” The murmur vibrated against his skin. Both of the man’s hands came down to spread his legs more, and he almost protested, but then George’s fingers were digging into the tense muscles, and he groaned, yet again falling back onto the pillows. George took that as a cue to press harder, which Lafayette appreciated _immensely._ Working his way down from hip to calf on each leg, he kneaded tirelessly, earning grateful moans and mewls as he did so. “You’re so beautiful,” George kissed his navel and ceased the massage when he found that Lafayette had slumped back, finally relaxed and boneless for the most part.

He looked up through his lashes and met George’s eyes. He tried to convey his overwhelmed gratitude with that single look and didn’t even make a noise when he saw George leaning over to grab a condom from the side table. When the man gestured to it, Lafayette could only nod and hum in agreement. He felt weightless. It was perfect.

Since he’d closed his eyes after giving the initial consent, Lafayette was slightly taken by surprise when in what only seemed like seconds, George’s warm cock was nudging at his hole, then breaching him smoothly. He moaned again, pushing back for more, but he was held in place as two strong arms held onto his hips. Even if they hadn’t been there, the angle would have still been terrible for bucking; his legs were loosely hooked on George’s shoulders, and he had no leverage. He wouldn’t mind if not for the fact that the man was going at an unbearably slow pace. The drag of his cock was almost agonizing. “Daddy, please,” he whined. George seemed to understand what he meant and loomed over him, dipping down for a kiss before sinking all the way in. Lafayette moaned quietly at the feeling of being so full, surrounded by the man in every way he could possibly be. He wanted so badly to look away, to stare at the ceiling and think about something other than the fact that his cock was swelling for the third time that morning. But he found himself unable to, enthralled as he was by George’s concentrated expression and occasional strings of profanity.

“Look at you,” he said adoringly. “My sweet girl, doing so good for me, so fucking pretty,” Lafayette’s stomach lurched at that, not necessarily in a bad way. It was embarrassing that he could still get hard again, especially so quickly, and that George was saying things like that in a reverent way that made him ache. But he loved it, even if the praise was hard to believe. “Already hard again for me, God, wish I could make you come all day long, baby girl, would you like that?” If George was pleased with his easy arousal, he supposed there was no reason to find shame in it. The man’s cock was rubbing over his prostate with every thrust, and it was truly impossible not to jerk against the stimulation.

“Oui, oui,” He would have said yes to anything at that point, if only for the ridiculously pleased look on George’s face. Lafayette was sure it wouldn’t be held against him if he said no later, so he didn’t feel nervous about agreeing immediately. He grasped at George’s biceps like he was going to die, trying to pull him in closer. He wasn’t disappointed; George kissed him without hesitation, slow and filthy.

Lafayette realized, with some embarrassment, that he was quite literally being fucked into the mattress. Not that he didn’t love the idea, because really, he did. He tried to push back against George’s brutal thrusts, but it was a moot effort. The man had him pinned. Lafayette moaned at the thought. It didn’t feel like George was using even a fraction of the power he possessed.

He could feel himself getting closer to the edge, a slow build of pressure in his stomach as he was fucked thoroughly. When George pulled back from the kiss, he looked mildly taken aback and swiped a thumb over Lafayette’s cheek. It came back wet. Having an astonishingly delayed reaction, Lafayette became conscious to the fact that he was crying. His vision had been blurry for a while, but only then did he blink and feel his lashes clump with tears. He really couldn’t be blamed though. He’d never experienced anything so intense, physically or emotionally, and this was hitting both nails on the head.

“Green,” he said weakly before George could ask. “Green,” Lafayette unclenched one hand from the sheets beneath him to clutch at the man’s hand and bring it back to his warm cheek. George didn’t seem to have a problem with this, only nodding and kissing his forehead affectionately. His thumb continued stroking underneath Lafayette’s eye, over his cheekbone, to catch the tears that were still falling.

They’d slowed down a bit through the realization that tears had been shed, but as soon as the assurance was given, the pace picked back up, and Lafayette was back to moaning in earnest. The cotton sheets were still cool against his feverish skin, and he pressed himself harder into it, trying to avoid the overstimulation while somehow also trying to bait George into pulling him closer. Neither worked. The man just watched him with piercing dark eyes, caged him in with a broad palm pressed into the mattress on either side of his head.

Lafayette was close; he could feel it. Although he was distantly ashamed by the idea of having three orgasms before George even had one, all of that was buzzing in the back of his brain, while his pre-frontal cortex was occupied with the drag of soft cloth on the small of his back and between his clenched fingers, the achy fire re-inhabiting his thighs, and the constant rhythm George had set in his thrusts. His head, probably lolling, while his drying eyelashes fluttered. He had never felt more contented.

He could feel it twisting in his stomach, burning down his spine. And yet, he was still caught off-guard.

This orgasm knocked the breath out of him. Despite how close to the edge he’d been for whole minutes, he hadn’t expected to come without a hand on his cock. If anything, Lafayette had been expecting it to be more difficult, considering the two orgasms he’d had previously. But no, it was just as easy, if not a whole hell of a lot more intense. His cock was burning with abuse, and his prostate was faring similarly. He didn’t think he could move.

George only had to thrust _un, deux, trois, quatre, cenq, six_ more times- those movements being filled with whimpers from Lafayette who was of the firm belief that he wouldn’t be able to take another dick for at least a month after this- to come inside of Lafayette with a deep noise from the back of his throat. He pulled out immediately to rid himself of the condom but didn’t move anywhere, with much thanks to the trash bin inside the side table. George quickly put the focus back on him and leaned on his elbows above Lafayette to gather the person into his arms.

“ _Papa_ ,” he breathed, weak and thick with emotion. He couldn’t cry in front of George again, even if the man wouldn’t ridicule him for it; his own pride was in the way. Apparently, the intangible concept of pride couldn’t plug up his tear ducts though, because before he knew it, he was clutching onto George’s shoulders, weeping yet again only seconds later.

George, bless him, didn’t even try to hush Lafayette or put an end to his melodrama. The man just kissed the soft curls at his hairline and rocked him faintly, praising him for how well he did. “Sweet girl, you’ve been so good to me, you deserve some rest,” Yes of course, because he was only crying out of tiredness, or so he’d have liked to convince himself. “You did so well, baby.”

Lafayette nodded, unable to really do much else as he was propped up momentarily, before being wiped down with a cool, damp towel. He was then tucked in, George soon following after with their respective pairs of grey sweatpants in hand. “Here,” he said quietly as he tugged them up on Lafayette’s hips, kissing his stomach before flopping down onto the bed next to him.

He registered being wrapped in George’s arms before falling into a tranquil sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> so the question is.... should i write their morning talk and sexy times?
> 
> this is so sinful holy shit
> 
> pls tell me if you want me to have a second chapter
> 
> also this may be really bad i wrote it at like 4 am


End file.
